The Moral of the Story

Can you recall reading a story that made you smile, laugh, cry, fume, fear, and feel all those emotions that refused to leave you even as you forced yourself to try and sleep for the few remaining hours of the night? The emotions that made you want to grab the nearest person and discuss the story to no end, only to realize that everyone in the vicinity had already gone to sleep? The emotions that played on your mind for the next many days, surfacing randomly and unannounced as you went through your routine, triggered by the slightest of memories.

Now, can you also recall the last line of that same story, which said in big, clear letters, “The moral of the story is…”?

If you’re one of those few people who actually answered yes to both questions, there’s a high chance that you might want to write away this article as pompous and self-righteous (which admittedly, it is). But for the other group who read the second question and went “Huh? What…?” – a group that I’m hoping is in the majority – this might just be something you connect with.

For as long as I can remember, the stories that we read in schools – the ones that not-so-subtly taught us about good and evil – ended with a moral of the story. You know, ‘honesty is the best policy’; ‘slow and steady wins the race’; ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’, etc.

Cringe-worthy, I know.

But the fact is, these ‘moral of the story’ stories have reigned children’s literature for the longest time. And as much as I criticize them, they’ve been a favourite of many teachers and parents. Why? Because we as a society tend to believe that children need to be taught values, and that stories are a great medium of doing that. And in a way, that does make sense. After all, a lot of what I've learnt has come from books. And what would be the point of having books for children if they can’t pick up these values through them?

A lot, actually.

Last year, I did a research project on children’s literature, and what parameters are / can be used to determine what qualifies as good children’s literature. I spoke to many writers and editors, and through that process, realized that one of the biggest issues with children’s stories is that they are written for children.

Read that sentence again if you need to.

Let me explain.

When people write a story in general, they write it because they want to tell the story. The basic intent is just that – telling the story. But when people write a story for children, they’re suddenly burdened with the subconscious task of teaching them something. About good. About bad. About choices. About struggles. And while some of these subjects are worth learning about, they come at the cost of the story itself. What results is a struggle, “a battle between instruction and amusement, between restraint and freedom, between hesitant morality and spontaneous happiness” (Harvey Darton).

Basically, the intent to educate overpowers the intent to tell the story.

And that’s tragic, because I loved Neil Gaiman's suggestion that the four words that best capture stories are: “And then what happened?” These words capture the pull of the best stories, the ones that leave you with the thirst for wanting to know what happens next, and the power that stops you from putting the book down.

Replacing those words with “What did we learn from this?” somehow doesn't match up to that excitement. It takes away not just from the story itself, but also undermines the children reading the stories.

The assumption that children need to be taught about good and bad, that they need to be protected from the complexities of difficult decisions, that they need to be presented with a world that exists in black and white, - really undermines the kind of thought they are capable of. An editor captured this by saying, “the happiest things are there in stories and the saddest things are there in stories…just as adults need exposure to them, so do children”.

So then, how does one write for children, really? Starting with a disclaimer that I personally have no experience in this particular field, I’d venture a guess saying: “the way you’d write for anyone”. Begin the story by asking yourself about what story you want to tell, and not what lesson you want to teach. Stop thinking of children as children, because the moment we do that, we dilute the story with the banalities of simplicity that pull out all the shades of colour from it.

But – what happened to the learning? If we say that stories are a great source of learning, how does that happen if we ignore the educational component?

Take the example of Harry Potter (because, let’s face it, how can any blog that I write [particularly one about good stories] be complete without a reference to Harry Potter?) A study found that children who read Harry Potter showed increasing tolerance to cultural diversity, and were less prone to prejudice. In fairness, I can’t vouch for the validity of such a claim, but I can completely see it happening. Who could read the Harry Potter series and escape without respect for people with all kinds of magical and non-magical abilities? Who can claim to love Hermoine and yet hate ‘Mudbloods’? And who can laud Harry's courage without admitting to his fear and anger as well? The book is a great space for grappling with values, but I doubt that J.K. Rowling set off to write these books with an intention to teach children to be good. At least, I hope not.

Think back to some of your favourite books and stories. What did they have? Personally, I think the best stories have it all: the choices, the conflicts, the struggles, the fear, the hope, the anger, the ups, the downs. The stories that stay with you are the ones that draw you into the lives of the characters and make you feel what they do. And watching the dilemmas and successes of the characters can foster empathy and tolerance, and important moments of crisis in the stories can aid emotional and moral development in children. But that development is incidental, not intentional.

An editor summed up these thoughts fairly well: “If you think about an issue and then write a story about it, then it doesn’t seem natural. You might as well write an article then.” Like this post. It’s self-righteous. It’s preachy. It’s presumptuous. But then, it was never meant to be a story.